Pelvic Sorcery
by Idratherbeinbritain
Summary: They've both found that love is when you want to kiss and you get bit. And not always in the good way, but still. Here they were, making mistakes, and making the most of them.
1. Chapter 1

+summary: series of oneshots without much tie together, and varying degrees of relationship satuses between Gamora and Peter.

* * *

"I just don't think you're suitably jealous, is all," Peter said, arm wrapping quick over her shoulder, ducking for the both of them.

The green bolt of energy shattered the rock face behind them, and Gamora shielded her face from the projectiles that were now coming from both directions. Thankfully, pebbles were much less damaging than plasma, though the marks were a stretch more difficult to explain in a light that wasn't embarrassing. Saying that she had been struck by a pebble was hardly a honorable story, and she did have a pride more easily injured than her skin.

With a well planted elbow, she pushed Peter off her, regaining her mobility enough to raise herself up, whipping the knife in her boot towards the shapes, suffering from the dust that'd finally engulfed them somewhat belatedly. The knife struck home, sending the tallest against the porous wall, sleeve caught by the knife, embedded in the solid pillars that marked an open doorway used by foreign visitors who couldn't diffuse through the walls like the indigenous peoples could. Drax had finished doing the diffusion, choosing the route Rocket and , more like active transport, gel flecking off behind him as he charged through, bulldozing the ones stupid enough to stay in the same place.

Gamora stood, tossing her hair back, stepping forward just as Rocket popped from the gel around the rock face, spluttering as he attempted to groom his fur, looking slicked down. HE caught her smirk, response caught in his throat, probably by the gel in his mouth. His tail weakly thumped as he was bent over by hacking coughs, hands to his knees. The raccoon held up a finger, leaving the capture to the three operational members. Groot was _still _in the gel walls, looking far too happy as he oozed through the strange material, breaking the amber glow provided by the strange walls in the cavern. Rocket was too busy with clearing his larynx to snap at his larger friend; and them, at somepoint, she was sure.

Peter vaulted over the boulder (though she supposed it was just rubble now), catching her ten steps from the dangling criminal. She did enjoy that she wasn't being chased like this anymore. Not that she'd have gotten caught. Or looked anything close to that pathetic, feet pedaling in the air, mouth gaping in an excellent imitation of Rocket when he was sleeping. Minus the echoing snore.

"What?" She hissed, shrugging Peter's hand off her shoulder.

"You do realize that she touched me."

"Yes, I do, what are you trying to say-?"

Peter ran a hand over his forehead, tugging at the start of his hair, "A girl tried to cut off my dick for leaning too close to this officer from Xandar. After the danger passed; great sex, but still. I thought you'd go for my throat. Or hers." He crossed his arms over his chest, situating himself between her and the criminal. More specifically, the bounty money.

"You are being ridiculous, Quill."

"...Starlord. If you're going to ice me out on mission; Starlord."

"Ice you out provides a lovely picture of me shoving you out into space to stop this argument. This is not the time."

"Fine, but I've got this guy to myself. I mean, he's hanging by your knife, don't know how, but it's your throw so, he's hanging; where is he going to go? We've got time. I haven't got to do the finishing blow in awhile, it's more satisfying once I've kneed him in a place that fucking hurts as much as him charging me." Peter turned slightly, "So unfair, man, you are a million times heavier than me."

Drax made a low noise, shaking his head, "Not an accurate presumption, Quill, now if you would like to finish him, do it before I take the liberty."

Peter opened his mouth to say something scathing, she assumed, but he dropped like a stone, the blunt end of a terribly familiar knife very obviously the cause of it. Gamora crouched over him, hand swiping over her boots, knowing that the knife laying beside Peter's head was the last one, but it was more of a desperation check, already flinging her hand out, hand on the knife, but the freed criminal had his gun, dragging his fat with him.

All the inhabitants of the world were aesthetically overweight, which would hinder their movements, but the network of amber liquid, a substance Peter had called syrup, was as efficient as the aerial motorways on Xandar. The people could dive into the walls, and pop out the other side in hardly five seconds, while Drax had taken 10 minutes to clear a short section; and she'd give him the credit he deserved, to his ability to drive through a number of things she'd never fathomed, clearing a path. Thus the name, Drax the Destroyer (Peter added: 'destroyer of walls and my tables').

But back to the indigenous peoples.

Despite their bodies looking like the marshmallows that Peter never ran out of, their fingers were unusually long and thin. The things they could build varied, when they focused on arms-craftsmanship, this happened. Or to specify: the single barreled gun furled out, focused on her and Drax, even stretched towards Groot, suddenly churning hard enough to shift the stagnant bubbles, eager to get into the fray. She'd seen the law enforcers blown to bits just being clipped with that green energy, so she wasn't feeling all that confident in Groot at the moment. And Rocket had been scooped up in the other hand of the fat man, still wheezing, unable to speak, but she assumed the hand signals were along the lines of, 'help'.

"I will take this small furred creature as far as my ship. And then you will allow me to leave."

"Is that what you think? That you will get away from me?" Drax asked, muscles doing that rippling thing that he often did when he really got into cleaning his knives. "In past experiences, I am much faster than a slug such as you. Put my small companion down."

Rocket hacked in Drax's direction, squirming under the fat arm that was about to swallow him in a manner similar to the walls.

"In past experiences; please," the fat seemed to swish as the face screwed up in disgust, "you have no idea what my people can do, compared to your own. You are ants to me. You all are. Thin, insubstantial, slow humanoid creatures. To watch you struggle through our networking systems proves my point a million times over. I'm larger, but faster; doesn't that break some kind of rules on your planet, Terra native? Oh, he's still uncon- never mind that, I will say my piece once again. I am better, faster, stronger. And you hypocritical bounty hunters, criminals with their record cleared, masquerading under the liberating title of Guardians of the Galaxy, and might I add, Starlord- bah, I-!"

Fat trembled as Peter's shot racked the blob's body, his gun still pointed vaguely to his hit target, mumbling, "I love it when they start monologuing, it's the best shit ever. You don't usually- you know what, that was going to be a monologue too, so fuck it."

"You asshole!" Rocket was sliding out from under the amorphous blob, using the last of the gel, as most of it had been fried off, apparently. "What the fuck was that? You could've zapped me! Are you really that stupid? Why the fuck have we made him our leader unofficially? I'll make my case again; we should not make the human idiot the person in charge."

"I agree, it should be me instead," Drax said.

"Did I involve you? You're hardly any better, a brick would understand more than you do."

"A brick is an inorganic object, with no neurons firing in the slightest, so, no, it would not understand more than I do."

"It's a metaphor. We can't have someone who takes the literal meaning of a sentence to a level that-" The blob moved, cut Rocket off as the Raccoon moved, stomping on his former captor's face till the movements stopped. "It's like I'm on a water board, or somethin'," Rocket said, snickering into his paw, before he pointed at Peter. "As I was saying, you almost shot me, you 1000% dick."

"I don't think that is an accurate percentage," Drax said, hoisting one half of the blob, Groot finally out of the nexus to help him; missing for the action, and there for the money, as his companion had said.

Rocket didn't stop arguing, even as they collected their 50,000 unit reward, Peter hovering close to her, because he was impossibly good at hovering. His hand tapped once at the nape of her ass, and she reached, swatted it away, not amused with his constant belligerence that'd almost gotten Rocket hurt. And herself as well, but Rocket did seem more damagable than she did.

When they got back to their ship, Rocket was winded, splitting off, not before he said, "This ain't over, Quill."

"Yea, I know. You bring up shit I can't remember!"

"Because I'm a superior organism, Humie!"

Groot's back up was as limited as usual, "I am Groot."

"Exactly what I was sayin'!"

Peter's mouth gaped, and he looked to Drax, hand spread at the retreating forms of Groot and Rocket. Drax shook his head, picked up his knife and sat in his chair, a rickety old padded armchair, hardly up to galactic standards, but it seemed to fit his width. With a couple loud scrapes the chair was scooted into the adjacent room, leaving her and Peter alone. Which was when he caught her, like he was, arm going quick around her waist.

They were just giving this a go. This; the relationship, formed because of Peter's slow work, none of hers,in all honesty. But she was taken with him, she'd admit that, with all of his sincerity, hidden behind a somewhat rough, as well as sarcastic and immature(the list of negatives could go on), shell. A kindred spirit, in sorts, though she found that in all of her companions.

"Hey, hey," he said, soft, insistent tone finally breaking her down. Along with the jokes Rocket had made. "What?"

"I want you to apologize."

"I'm sorry." He nudged closer, tried for a hug,

"To the rest of them as well."

That's where he was needled most times, reliably crumpling in on himself, pouting, "But I just; come on, Gamora, why?"

"Because I said so."

She proceeded to, as he said, 'ice him out'. Peter finally got a hard enough slap to convince him to keep his hands off and focus his efforts elsewhere. She wasn't in the mood to be swayed in the slightest by his pelvic sorcery. When Rocket responded to his apology, she could hear the reflare of heated back and forth. Peter's sorry audibility grew, trying to cut off Rocket with this word repeatedly.

Gamora sat by the cassette player, flipping vol.1 over, thumb smoothing over the fraying sticker. Peter clomped back down the stairs, preceded by Drax's heavy steps. The metal cover clanged into place, leaving the two them alone in the underside of the aircraft. He dumped himself beside her, large hand reaching and covering the tape, pulling it back to him, clicking open the player to slot the rectangle into place. Another button was pressed, and music played from the orange foam circles around his neck; despite their outdated look, she'd never really ask him why he didn't get a chip, something similar to the translator in his neck.

"You want to know why?" She asked, resting her head close to one of the volume dials. "Why I asked you to say sorry?"

"Because we're a team. And Rocket would've talked about it for weeks; he doesn't let go at all. It's kinda frightening, but apparently, we're more concerned with my cleaning habit nowadays."

"You are not letting go of that topic, we haven't brought it up in a month, Peter."

"Okay, okay. But just so you know, and feel free to tell the rest of them this, I do make sure to at least wipe the counters."

She hummed, raised her eyebrows.

"...fine, it's a tiny bit of a lie, but still. You look gorgeous."

She shook her head, tucked her knees up to her chest, laughing for just a beat, "You can not get out of my lecture."

"I know. So tell me why."

"Yes, it's because we're a team, but also, we all have reckless tendencies that we need to curb, and I just think it's something to note. We are used to being alone, aren't we? In various ways. And rash, impulsive actions are fun when no one you care for is around to get hurt because of them."

He nodded, though a sigh reached her ears, and she saw his leg bouncing, head angled down away from hers. "You weren't hurt, were you?"

"No. But Rocket's feelings were hurt."

"That happens all the time."

"He is rather emotional," she said, smiling, "but it's appreciated."

"You think that fur bag would chill-"

Muffled clanging from directly over them, followed by a muffled voice, distorted by the floor obstacle, "I hear _everything_, Quill! We're going to get some kind of food, and you ain't getting none of it!"

"How could you hear that?! And you're using food as a weapon, that's pretty cruel, man," A response wasn't forthcoming. Peter sighed, poked at a hole in his t-shirt, muttering, "I'm really hungry too. Can I-?"

"No you can not have any of my food."

"What- I didn't even ask yet. How do you know what I was going to ask? You know what; fine, I don't even want your food."

She stood with a shrug, walking to the hatch, "Then you can sit here and sulk."

"Whoa-Gamora, stay, he knows your regular order. And it's not sulking, it's sitting in righteous indignation."

"Righteous?"

"Petty."

"Accurate"

He moved to lean beside her, hand close to her face, going to her hair, pushing a lock back over her shoulder before he spoke again, "Stay, okay? Keep my mind off the gaping black hole in my stomach."

"So melodramatic," she said with a huff, but stepped back from the first platform.


	2. Saturn

(Thank you all so, so much for the feedback, follows and the like; it really pushes my writing process. And along that line, I hope this is good enough as well)

* * *

He pulled out her seat, gesturing grandly at the hovering, padded white seat. Gamora sat, still trying to wrap her mind around the hurried explanation of why they were in this establishment in the luxury belt of Saturn. Peter could not afford to breath the air in here, same with her, but that was an entirely different situation. Even with their criminal records being wiped, Peter was still mixed up with the underworld, paying back the people he'd 'borrowed' money from(with hardly a plan to return it). And that money was used to buy trinkets like the glittery disco ball that'd he'd hung in the depths of their spaceship. Critical investment decision.

The most recent attack was from a short female who owned a series of planets with disgustingly expensive real estate. With all that money and clear intelligence, Gamora had to wonder why she'd given Peter money, but she saw the picture of him that he'd submitted (in a religious outfit from his own planet), with his hair slicked down and parted, looking pensive, a cross hanging from a silver necklace, collar up to his neck. He really did look...clean. Trustworthy, even; and not a space pirate down on his luck. Maybe that was something close to description of his previous allegiance to the Ravagers, but with all of their flipped morals and greed, their reputation or getting shit down (or getting things stolen) erased any bad definition that was involved with their aesthetics.

So; the next thing. Valentine's day. It was some Terran tradition, of sorts, though she wasn't going to trust Peter's telling of it, especially as he started in on the sex part, a slow smile crawling over his lips as he expressed it's importance on the day. They'd been together long enough her to catch at least 25% of his bullshit. In response, she'd elbowed him, missed, and was pulled hard against him, hand under her knee. Simply, the conversation was dropped.

Peter pulled her back to the present as he reached under his jacket, holding out the left flap as he rooted around in the inner pocket. As if the mode of transportation and reveal wasn't bad enough, he set a bunch of fake flowers on the table. Another grand gesture that wasn't needed towards an object, Peter's smile almost blinding her, camped out in the chair across from her, almost snuggling further down as she poked at the roses.

"Are these fake flowers?" she asked, because despite all the technology, fake flowers had a smell that made her eyes water, and all that over vibrant red pigment in the blooming area wasn't helping at all.

"What-" Peter sat up, brow creasing as he lifted the flower. "Really?"

"Did you honestly not know?"

"It was an impulse buy, Gamora, I bought them on the way here."

She remembered the vase in the hallway, studied the flowers intently for the moment needed to, knowing if she walked out of the restaurant, she'd see an empty vase in an alcove, "You stole them out of the vase."

Peter took a breath, a hand raising briefly, before he let it fall to the table. "Yes. But it's kind of romantic, even if they're fake." He frowned, tipping forward to ask, "Are you crying? I was so sure stealing was hot."

"It's the smell of the flowers, Quill," she snapped, pressing her hand over her eyes, pushing away the damp, tipping her head to the side to better glare at him.

He winced at the Quill, superstitiously brushing the 5 flowers off the table, foot moving into veiw enough for her to watch him slide them under the table. Her lips quivered, and she smiled, looking away from him in general as she shook her head, hoping she'd find a reason to not reward his blunders with laughter. She occupied herself with bringing up the menu, tapping two fingers on the glowing sphere in the center, a menu expanding quickly, red words flashing once, twice, 'your server has been requested'.

"It's a bit old school, isn't it? Not a lot of places do servers to this extent anymore."

"And that's why the cost is going to put you into an entirely new world of debt, am I correct?" She asked.

"No it's not, Gamora, so there," he said, as if that was the deciding factor.

She looked him over, laughed almost against her will, but that photo of him with a high, stiff collar; so ridiculous. "I had no idea you moonlighted as a priest."

"I never told you?" Peter asked, eyebrows raising. "I have a degree."

"Did you really?" She knew her tone was dripping with disbelief, and Peter leaned back, pulling his holopad from his belt, slapping it on the table.

A couple deft movements, and he pulled up a certificate, the projected screen flickering in testimony to the overused and outdated technology. But the certificate was clear enough for her to read; _Congratulations! You've received the final part of a religious degree earned in 48 hours!_ Gamora stopped reading when she hit the *, tracking the postscript, which told her the truth behind the certificate, as it was only allowed in certain places in the galaxy.

She raised her eyes to Peter, who smirked, closing the holopad, leaning back to slip it back in it's notch, "It's too easy sometimes."

"I do not know how you've lasted out here."

"Dodging death with my good looks, I think," Peter shrugged as he spoke, "oh, oh; and pissing off the right people."

She hummed, distracted by the sudden appearance of their waiter, a novelty she'd never experienced, used to keying in her orders, having them brought out in short time. Here, she had to go through three courses, which seemed tedious, really, and all though Peter was more than happy to send off his order and help her, she wasn't too happy at staring at a printed menu. Peter being pressed close was nice, but she just-she didn't want to be helped.

Or come off odd because she still ate within a minute's space of time, because Thanos didn't place enjoying meals at the top of lists when training could serve to fill that spot, followed by another painful genetic tampering, a spar afterwards with one of her sisters.

Gamora took a deep breath to rid the memories from her mind as best she could, letting her finger track down the menu, hoping Peter hadn't caught the starting retrograde, but he did. Maybe because it was a trade off between her ability to call that 25% bullshit level, and this. It meant something to her that he was able to see a tiny flicker of emotion. She'd hardly had more honor and decency than him when they first met, clinging to the humanity that Nebula had already discarded in the hopes she would soon be able to make up for her past transgressions. What she was doing now, with him at the rest of them.

"You good?" he asked, breath hitching as she shifted, large hand spanning over her hip. No one else could read her like this; in fighting terms, he'd be a much better match now. He dropped his voice even lower, whispering into her ear, "I'll eat your food if you want me to, no problem."

Usually when he whispered into her ear, the words were a bit better stated. She'd even say she was let down, any remaining buzz from the breath falling away, and she shook her head, relaxing further into him, armrests hardly doing anything good now, "You are ridiculous."

"I'm so serious right now, I think I made the wrong choice," he said, still whispering into her ear. "I'm thinking chocolate with that fancy antigrav plate that makes the fountain look like it's gonna go the other way; then no it doesn't. And it's a shitty recountment, but I've only gotten pictures and rumours, it's like a fucking state secret these rich people hide. So here we are, in the belly of the beast, Gamora, and we're not even going to take advantage of this."

She stifled a laugh, believing that someone would hide dessert secrets from Peter, swayed by the drama he was invoking to take her mind off anything else but his borderline desperate desire to sample desserts. And she wanted to see that chocolate thing. "I'm surprised you didn't suggest a strictly dessert dinner. It really seems like an oversight, Peter. Perhaps you should suggest that."

"Oh fuck, are you serious?" he asked, practically hissing now, as if they were planning an attack, or something similar.

It probably didn't look good, with the other couples straight backed, even if they were as close as the two of them. If Peter moved any further, he'd be in her lap, and he was rather heavy. Besides, she'd prefer a reverse of that.

"Yes."

"If you're kidding, you have a very bad sense of humour. You don't put that in front of someone and then pull it away, Gamora,"

"I'm hardly the one to joke, Peter, I will leave that to you, stick with my rather dry humour."

He tipped back, serious for just a beat, eyes traveling over her face, taking her in before he murmured, "I like your dry humour." Then his wide smile was back on his face,

For a very brief second, she was sure he bounced out of his chair, kissing her quickly on the cheek. She was caught off guard, hand hovering near her cheek, grateful that blush didn't show well on the green hue of her skin. Peter had his hand up, as if pressing the call button wasn't good enough, leaving her to review the extensive dessert menu.

She was happy that they would be going soon, preferring the familiar comfort of a room for the two of them, something more intimate. He did convince her to stay for a drink, waiting at the bar instead of that table, which was too small anyway, for their boxed desserts. Apparently the antigrav plate was more than half of the unit price, but she'd like to see what it did to other food in the containment area.

"So what is the real reason you can afford these 200 unit drinks, Peter?"

"My friend works here. It's pretty much free."

"Is he the one serving our drinks?" she asked, watching him put up his hand to catch the man's attention, on the other side of the circular bar now.

His wave was returned, and Peter grinned. "Pretty much."

"At least you took advantage of it," she said, eyes tracking over the displayed menu.

"What, do you want me to spend units on you?"

"Hardly," she scoffed, letting her pinky swirl the dark liquid, "I am not one to want silly things like that to affirm you care about me."

"'Cuz you know you've got me around your finger, don't you?"

She looked to him out of the corner of her eye, a tiny smirk curling her lips before she shrugged, tucking her hair behind her ear, though she kept some of it between her fingers, studying the purple ends. "Maybe."

He made a little noise, hand moving to rest on her mid-back, an area revealed by the space in the simple black dress she wore, skin warm against hers. She felt a little quiver run through her, fighting against an instinctive tense up she was still learning to get rid of when it came to him. Gamora tipped, trying to catch a glimpse of his hand, maybe a waiter bringing their assorted desserts. There they were, thankfully, though the waitress that'd been no doubt commissioned to help their original waiter didn't looking pleased at the numerous containers that stacked up to her head, though she held them at the level of her waist.

She turned again to inform him, "Peter, our desserts."

"I could eat one of them everyday and still have that stockpile last at least a month, maybe," Peter said, rubbing his hands together.

Gamora missed the presence of one of them on her back, but they were going back to their over expensive suite, so. She could leave that topic open to speculation.

Peter had a box on top of his head, ones dotted over his arms, shoulders. She carried the chocolate antigrav plate, catching sight of the empty vase. Gamora stopped, pointed, but Peter feigned a loud cough, walking fast as he could without dropping anything. Stealing flowers out of a vase; he sometimes did things that made her question his general existence, and, once again, how he'd managed to stay alive this long.

He was at the door before her, watching her press her hand to the center, the door opening to her. The man at the front desk had been sure to make her the one who could open the door exclusively. Probably because Peter didn't look trustworthy to people.

Peter set down his boxes, filling the huge, authentic oak table; this close to Earth, she assumed that's what it was made of. She was holding the cake, lifting it to the better lighting here than the hallway and the restaurant. The center, triangular piece remained somewhat stationary half way between the two plates, and the icing swirled slow around it without much direction.

"Are you going to eat it, or look at it?"

She glared past the cake to him, said, "I would like to, but it is…"

"Scared?"

"Peter, why would I be frightened by a cake, that is absurd." She dropped her gaze back to the cake, hesitating before she spoke again, "It's very...pretty, and I don't want to ruin it."

A slight cough from another side room, specifically the one before the doors that led to the huge bedroom, drew her attention away from Peter and the cake. Rocket, followed by Groot, walked towards them, the raccoon's paws tightening the tie of the bathrobe. For whatever reason, his fur was well groomed, white tips of hair that protruded from his ears curled, his tail puffed out like it'd been combed through. Very interesting, as she hadn't seen much personal hygiene from Rocket, as he always seemed to be working on a project, preferring that over a shower. Peter had sprayed an odor neutralizer on him once; the mistake was never made again.

"If you don't want the cake, you should pass it down here," Rocket said, holding one paw up as far as he could.

Rocket's head turned abruptly to focus on Peter, his eyes narrowing, nostrils flaring. His eyes scanned Peter up and down, even went as far as circling him, nose twitching constantly in a way that made her own itch. The raccoon zipped off back the way he came from, though Groot didn't follow, staring at the cake, his head tipped to the side.

"What was that? Why is he even in this-" Peter cut himself off as Rocket stuck his head into the room, though his confusion was still palpable.

Rocket patted the wall he was bent around urgently, "Come on, Groot, you don't even _like_ chocolate, why the hell are you starin' at it like that?"

Groot turned, shrugging as he lumbered into the next room with his friend, his, "I am Groot," audible as always.

"That doesn't matter right now, moron," Rocket snapped, pushing at Groot's leg in an attempt to move him faster.

"How did he get into the room?" Peter walked to the drapes, looking out the window that was directed towards the sun. The numerous barriers that surrounded the establishment, protecting against solar flares and other dangers was as good as an atmosphere; maybe better than the one that kept the nearby Earth safe now, if she'd heard about their deteriorating environment properly.

"I've stopped asking those kind of questions when it comes to Rocket, Peter."

She watched him drop on all fours, inching along the closest wall, shoving aside obstacles, snapping the few drawers he could. Maybe he was mimicking Rocket, she didn't know, really. It was Peter, so normal assumptions were fairly up in the air.

"I'm going to solve this mystery, I swear if he doesn't get his furry butt out," Peter said, standing up to walk in the center of the room, doing a circle under the painted ceiling. "What is up with artists and naked small things?" he asked, pointing up at the lounging, magenta skinned infant on a sphere, it looked like. "Is that weird, or is it just me? You know what, I'll add that to my case list."

"What, are you a licensed detective now?"

"Actually yes, that was a 12 hour degree program, much snappier; I can show you the certificate."

She laughed, shaking her head, using her free hand to grab one of his, pulling him after her, in the opposite direction Rocket had gone in. Away from the painting as well. Peter closed the doors behind him while she set the plate down on the low table in between two couches. And she caught sight of him looping his belt around the handles(he wasn't as sneaky as he thought he was. Or maybe that's what he wanted her to think), apparently not wanting to devote time to a simple locking code. Gamora had hardly straightened before he had her, unceremoniously diving in, but she didn't care. He hadn't been able to get closer to her with all of those chairs, and she really, really disliked that. REally- or, a lot, she couldn't really put her mind to any thoughts of 'before', just now.

Her stomach felt hollow, nerves crashing through her, and it was only emphasized by his kiss. The nerves weren't bad, her fingers in his hair, clawing through the brown, inviting him to move this a little faster, and he responded to that, walking them back to the close wall. She hit it with some force, air pushed out of her lungs, taking a deep, hard breath when he pulled back. His hands fisted in the sides of her dress, yanking at it without much point, and she felt she should've informed him that, no, she hadn't mysteriously removed the shoulder straps.

He was warm. A silly, silly observation, and she was warm too, but she always focused on the fact that he was touching her. Silly, but, she'd never experienced another living, breathing organism touching her in a way that would not eventually lead to her demise. Which was always nice, and a relatively new thing.

"What about that cake, Peter?" she asked, pulling back, though it hardly stopped him, head bent, feathering kisses lower.

"Fuck the cake," he muttered, pressed flush to her now, a low chuckle escaping him before he continued, "I'll eat it off you. Yea?"

She considered that, opened her mouth to agree, but her name was called from beyond the door. Drax, it sounded like. Peter whined, closing his eyes tightly, as if doing that might add to some deaf factor, forehead to the wall beside her head, exhaling softly on her neck.

"I should go talk to him."

"How the hell do they get in? And, I think I set the door to, do not disturb. Ever."

"Sounds nice, no disruptions." She couldn't help if her tone was a bit wistful.

"I know, I know…" He nodded, giving a little snuffle, though a grin was already on his lips, taking away from any sincerity, as usual. "It's so sad, Gamora, so _sad_."

"I'm going to go out there and solve the case for you."

"Yea, except you aren't licensed, so," Peter said, shrugging as he eased away enough for her to move to the door, "that's an issue. I think you'd be cast as the painfully beautiful, intelligent sidekick who gets the somewhat bumbling, but good-looking main detective out of trouble in every case. With a good helping of unresolved sexual tension, due to the fact that Sherlock, me, knows that you, Watson, is the only reason I'm still alive."

"I do not understand that reference, Peter."

"It's a complicated compliment, my dear Watson."

"How about the case of the belt used instead of a simple locking mechanism?" She asked, holding the folded letter up, stepping back up to him, hooking her finger briefly in the loops that had held the belt in place. "Lock it, next time." Rocking up on her toes, she made to kiss him, lips barely brushing against his before she turned, stepped out the door. "I'll get spoons as well, Peter."

"Get three."

"Why three?"

"I'm fairly sure I can make it rest on my nose for a bit."

She honestly didn't have anything to say to that.

He reached for her, but she pushed him back by his abdomen, letting him grab his belt again. She closed the door, walked across the foyer into the fireplace room. A hiss came from close by, and she stopped her progress into the bedroom, the thick carpet under her boots silencing any other noise. Gamora stood still, eyes flickering around the room, trying to judge where the hiss had come from. When she saw Rocket's paw waving urgently above a highback armchair, Groot hiding. Or Groot's version of hiding, crouched enough to that his head didn't get over the back of his chair, but half of his body was visible on the left. Drax didn't do any better, bulky body able to be seen from the right, the same way Groot had stationed himself. All in all, it was a terrible hiding job, and she was very grateful that they didn't do anything remotely covert.

"Psst!" Rocket hissed again, claws digging into the top of the chair, the white, small robe still on him. "Here, Gamora, hurry up."

She picked up her pace, stopping where she could see all of them, bunched behind the chair, sighing heavily before she asked, "What are you doing?"

Rocket's legs were working, trying to hitch onto the chair like his forepaws were, the red material that covered the chair looking scuffed. If nothing else, her friends were very, very good at destroying things. Individually, she'd say the tie was between Rocket and Drax

"Peter smells weird," Rocket said, narrowing his eyes, "And I can place it. Checked with Drax. It's not good. Did he drink something, recently?"

"Yes, he did. What is it, Rocket?" Gamora didn't have time to engage in a guessing game of any kind, crouched to better

"It is some sort of hormone that has only recently been manufactured, and can be influenced by an outside source," Drax said, his brow darkening, head bowed somewhat.

"Okay, so, he drank something, which means it's definitely in his system."

"Tell me in the simplest terms, Rocket."

"It's a rare biotechnology thing, and it ain't cheap or easy to handle, so, they're almost just for show, trinkets maybe. I've been itching to get my paws on one of those bad boys, it's cutting edge, 'head of it's time. Dunno why I didn't think about it, but fuck 'em, weapons are a sure fire way to fuck people over-"

"Rocket."

"Okay, okay, okay, don't get your panties in a wad, jeez," Rocket said, held up his paws to feign surrender before he scratched at one of his ears. "Basically, if you've got the right chemicals in him, or hormone, whatever the essential ingredient is, and a control platform, you've got almost complete power over the person influenced." Rocket tipped around her, pointed at Peter who was at the door, leaving the suite, steps oddly mechanical. "And look at that, the Humie is on the move. Or should I say the debtor, who probably owes someone here..."

As a group, they stood, and ran after Peter.

* * *

(there is a part 2 in the works, so. Reviews are always nice)


	3. Saturn (p2)

The running had stopped a foot from the door, Rocket doubling back, shouting over their complaints, "I'm changing my clothes; I have a reputation, and bathrobes do not fit that reputation in anyway!" He snapped the door closed behind him. Various zips followed, drawers clanging as well. "Okay, so, use these," Rocket said, waving the same sort of device Peter had first used on her.

"Rocket, I do not think these will work."

"Well then, what the hell do you suggest, sugarfoot?"

Groot shifted beside her, shaking his head, voice a rumble, as always, "I am Groot."

"I said I was workshopping new nicknames before; you're such a critic," Rocket sighed, finally hopping all the way out of the bathroom, easing the door shut behind him. He dragged his kit with him, hauling it in front of him, sticking his arms in, a number of suspicious clanks following. "I have to organize this, I swear, it's like diggin' through a regular toolkit. I stole this nice bag from you, Gamora, because it looked large, and pocket-y, if that's a word, not that I fuckin' care, but since you're getting all protective of your stupid Humie boyfriend who doesn't even have a decent nose on him, then fine, I'll go Terran and old school, so it's as stone age as it gets; I'm talking six singularities."

She thought she recognized that bag, catching sight of the symbol she put on almost everything she used. Gamora didn't have a chance to ask to have it back, handcuffs held out to her, dangling from Rocket's claw. He rattled it once, not looking very happy that she was making him wait, holding something as untechnological as those.

"Thank you."

"Keep them, then. If it gets kinky."

"I have no time to engage in any banter, Rocket, nor the time to smack you."

"Wha- it's a joke!"

She put two fingers to her temple, "Just, tell me how to proceed."

"Why?"

"If he is under control due to hormones in his system, then how will we be able to stop him? He put up a serious fight when we first encountered him, you and I. Even Groot had some issue with capture."

"Uh, s'cuse me; if I recall, I shot him, dropped him, and before that, _almost_ bagged him. Accidentally got you, but still."

"Tell me."

Rocket's nose twitched, and he zipped up her bag, the smell of fuel that had filled the air when he first opened it finally fading. He didn't seem to notice that in the slightest, arms crossed, raising his paw to scratch hard at his ear, opening his mouth finally, "I guess kiss him."

"Why would that work?"

"Oh, so now you doubt me? If you're not going to listen to my answer, then why the fuck did you even ask?"

"Fine, I will take your advice, Rocket." Not really.

"Running would be a good start, as well."

She spared him a glare before she sprinted out of the room, turning the same way PEter had. He was walking somewhat slowly, not his normal jog to get where he needed to be, so his progress to the lift was stunted. Gamora not only had complete control over her facilities, but was genetically enhanced, even if these changes were made against her will. So, she had the upper hand. As usual. But she'd keep that confidence close to herself, as she usually did, secure in the knowledge that in her field, she was superior. Talking, she'd leave to Peter, who was in right in front of her.

Gamora lunged, catching Peter's wrist, managing to turn him around. There was a flash of recognition, but it was small, and didn't seem to push to the front, and his hand rose, shoulder cocked back. He swung down, and she knocked his fist to the side, thinking that she'd taught him some better force behind his punches, but this wasn't Peter entirely. Rattling him wasn't helping. And even a kick to his back that sent him a goodways forward when she managed to move behind him. This maneuver was carried out by shoving his head down to waist level, so that addition should've helped.

Kissing him was not in her repertoire, and she hadn't planned to do it, chalking it up to one of Rocket's shitty information. But the advice surged to the forefront of her mind, helped there by the noises of pain Peter made, his movements slower now than ever. It would've been better if he wasn't under control, but at least she knew now that he was slowed down. Next to find the man who was using him.

She wrapped her arms around the back of his neck, kissed him. The idea of the body not 'being' Peter dissolved instantly, familiar warmth, taste, everything; right here.

"Oh shit, you actually did it?" Rocket said, voice coming from floor level, as usual. "Can't believe you fell for it, that's too good. I feel like I should be clapping, or somethin' like that."

Gamora managed a nod, knowing that if she looked down right now, he'd be laughing into his paw, maybe wiping away tears as he really got into it. It'd gone from prosthetics to this. But at least this wasn't as bad; and she'd admit that having a public display of affection excuse was freeing in a certain way.

Instead, she focused on Peter, waiting for his hands to wrap at hip or waist height, which came soon enough, her hands dropping away, handcuffs rattling for the briefest instant before she heard them click into place. Gamora dropped, wriggled out of the space of his arms, keeping close enough so that she could grip his shoulder, sweeping his legs out from under him. Peter remained somewhat upright with her hold on him, his legs bicycling.

"What is going on? Why did you-why do I have handcuffs on?" Peter asked, eyes wide and on her, his movements much, much more natural now. She stopped her sigh of relief, experience telling her that letting her guard down now was a premature.

Rocket frowned, pointed at Peter, "Groot, sit on him."

Groot moved on 'sit', lumbering over, sitting on Peter's stomach. Rocket nodded, making a little circle around the three of them, sniffing close to Peter, who jerked back as much as he could, face pinched.

"What the hell are you doing, man? This is not okay," Peter wriggled, eyes going to Gamora, "Save me from these idiots, Gamora. Then tell me how we got out of the room."

Peter struggled harder, actually managing to slide himself a further ways down the hallway. Groot seemed to settle down, and Peter promptly stopped moving. His cheeks bulged, and he almost looked green, lips pressed in a thin white line, the expression ruined when Rocket touched him. Rocket had his paws on Peter's face, stretching his skin more than needed to get a closer look at his eyes. Next, he pried Peter's mouth open, sniffed around, ignoring Peter as he made a noise that sounded a bit like 'going….throw up'.

Drax shook his head, shifting next to her from their vantage point on the debacle, only steps away, murmuring, "The mind is strong, but the stomach is not."

"Very accurate."

The second she took to meet Drax's eyes, Peter jolted, attracting her attention again. That glazed look she'd observed in his eyes reappeared, any true animation falling from his expression. Rocket sat back, watched his slow movements, how focused Peter was on the haze that signaled the lift, not giving a thought to anything else.

Rocket cleared his throat, speaking from Groot's shoulder, height still not given to him with his friend's sitting place on Peter,"Okay, so, hypothesis; when you kissed him, other hormones were induced, giving the chemical control a brief backseat, and then it clicked back in. I think, if we just let him roll, he'll go back to the source."

"Why is that? That doesn't make sense," Drax said, re-crossing his arms over his chest, as if the statement needed to be backed up. "Has your constant proximity to various chemicals and ore finally broken your small mind?"

"Says the nudist to the fashionably dressed raccoon."

Drax reeled back as if he'd been struck, before finding his feet, fists at his side. "I have pants on, raccoon."

Rocket stomped twice on Groot's shoulder, made his friend stand to his full and considerable height."Always tight leather, Drax, I'm just saying, man, it's not-"

"All you wear are jumpsuits. That does not meet the definition of fashionable in any sort."

"I can't wear anything else, but you can! Tunics are calling out for you, I can hear them." Rocket dropped his voice to a dramatic whisper, cupping his paws around his mouth, "_Drax...we promise to __**no**__t hug your crotch in the same way, nor have the possibility of any shitty waistline issues...like the one that happened last week that Rocket had to see that brought him numerous war flashbacks, even though he's never experienced that, so the irony should hold…_" Back to normal, jerking his thumb over his shoulder, "Wow, doesn't it sound so inviting? Maybe you should answer the call of the tunic."

With the thumb motion, her eyes were brought to again to Peter. Who was up. And walking.

Her smile disappeared, and she grabbed Rocket by his waist with a jump, carrying him under her arm like he was a case. Rocket never enjoyed it, and was very, very vocal about his distaste with his new location. Though, she did manage to get Groot and Drax moving at something approaching top speed. It wasn't enough to get in the same pod as Peter, and Rocket spent half the journey up against the hazy ceiling instructing their keying in as he watched Peter's progress. Groot's overzealous help had Rocket's eyeballs pressed against the solid orb. Almost, of course, but that's how it looked from down here,

"I will never answer the call of the tunic, Rocket, as it does not exist, and, "Drax's voice broke the tense silence, "tunics do not equal fashionably dressed. Besides, those two words have never been applied to a raccoon in a jumpsuit."

A sigh followed from the ceiling. "If I had a come back," Rocket spoke out of the corner of his mouth, ringed tail flicking up, side to side.

With the normal amount of disorder, Rocket, Groot, and Drax trundled after her, actually colliding against the walls. She wondered when they'd learned to walk, and really hoped that they would pick it back up. It wouldn't do to have them tripping over their legs, with them in a hallway, on a floor that was not on the directory that she'd looked over in the lobby. Here was uncharted territory, and they seemed to be pretending a facate of the artificial gravity was missing.

"Could you two hold it together?" She asked, keeping her lead in front of the group with a fast pace.

Rocket made a squeaking noise that seamlessly joined his rapid fire words,"I was just held up against a ceiling, is that alright with you? While shots were fired at me from the nudist, can I add?"

"Peter is in danger, I believe we all should be looking ahead," Drax said, gesturing to the moving form ahead of him, "despite the fact that one of us is wearing a jumpsuit that attracts the eye, due to it's blemish on the landscape."

"Right now, textbook? Really? Is that what we're arguing about? I thought I already won that?"

"Please!" She shouted, raising fists to threaten something, turning to face them. "Please focus on the situation at hand."

Gamora was worried about Peter, thoughts occupied by questions she knew wouldn't be answered if their actions weren't decisive. She wanted to find the person who was cowardly enough to hide behind someone else, be the puppetmaster without any repercussions, perhaps thinking that Peter's previous status as a one man show would hold and with that, no one would care. But now, here she was, chasing a human with no intention to kill.

Rocket gave a tiny sigh, a paw rubbing over his furry cheek, speaking to the floor, "Alright, alright, Gamora; we're sorry."

"The raccoon doesn't speak for me, but I also apologize," Drax said, very eager to set himself apart, and achieve some small victory in the subjacent argument. "We should focus entirely on Peter."

"I am Groot."

She looked to Rocket for translation.

Rocket was prompt as always. "He agrees, says good luck."

Gamora tipped her head to the talking, moving tree she called a close friend, even if his vocabulary was limited to three, four words. She turned on her heel, catching Peter's form as he rounded the corner at the end of the hall. Drax took the lead this time, not pausing at the opened door, punching through it, the shouted surprise of the richly dressed occupant, taking in the second intruder, following right after the homeless looking, leather clad male. Half naked, the second one. So they might've looked like a streetside act, especially with Rocket and Groot making an entrance that was borderline explosive.

Drax tackled Peter, Rocket walked to the room's owner to explain their presence; she assumed that Rocket hadn't thought it over, because hearing things from a furry animal wasn't going to help, probably. Gamora knelt next to Peter, patted at him. Nothing. Drax moved her to the side, solving the nothing result with a well planted headbutt.

Maybe it rattled his brain enough for Drax to get the question through, "What are you doing?"

"Killing the Erian ambassador before he meets with a Xandarian officer," Peter answered in a monotone, the lack of tone and inflection making her heart jump, breath coming a bit harder.

"And then what?" Drax asked, forehead not showing the same red mark that Peter had on his.

"Return to base."

Rocket was back on topic, having settled the man who'd been hyperventilating as soon as Peter said kill. He moved quick, scrambling up a high back chair so he wouldn't have to speak to the ground. And they could all hear

"I'm guessing that means the person who is controlling him."

"But why would that happen?" Gamora asked, focusing on something else despite it all. "Wouldn't that defeat the anonymity?"

"Glitch in the program, they have something of a return rate. Welcome to laugh, but, no," Rocket said, rushing a bit, shrugging from his perch on the chair. "Or he's going to kill him. Be the hero. That's probably it."

"That makes some sense, at least," she murmured, leaning to catch a glance of the man they'd walked in on.

He was now sitting in a an armchair that was distinctly better than the ones in her room, an entire teapot in his arms, clutched close, feet off the floor, as if curling into a ball would provide anything mildly protective. She looked to Rocket next, the fountain of information when they came across technology.

Rocket leaned close, dropping his voice to a whisper, "Okay, so, he's going to kill the ambassador."

"That's not a good thing, if I recall."

"No, no, he's not actually going to kill him, we're just going to let him think he he should return. So the guy can destroy the evidence, or whatever."

"How?"

"Um, holograms, Gamora."

"Is that a good idea?"

"What, do you want to tell the ambassador that he's actually going to die today? Don't let him even hear dead, he's going to have a panic attack or something, look at the poor guy. He's hugging his teapot. I bet it'd be fucking hilarious if we crushed it, somethin' quick, huh?"

"Don't take that away from him, Rocket, it's all he has."

Rocket gave a tiny huff, slumping slightly, "sucking the fun out of everything." He gave an impressive dramatization of sadness, wiping a single, invisible tear from his eye.

"It is not the time to enjoy that kind of triviality," she said, standing to her full height, though she kept a boot on Peter's chest, helping Drax just a bit.

"Fine, you get to talk to the teapot cradeler."

She did, trying to talk to him in a way that was relaxing, even dropping to a crouch, pushing her hair over her ear, hoping she was coming across more feminine and less stab-stab-stab-ask-questions-later. Peter's easy way of talking had gotten them out of innumerable situations, her out of her pants, and cheap fuel into the Milano. Sadly, she couldn't really allow her vocabulary retrograde, the formality ingrained there by lessons she didn't want to revisit.

The ambassador nodded along with her whispered plan, though his trembling increased, as Peter was allowed to rise. Drax was shoved to the side, doing a bit too much with his acted stumble, sprawling flat, a good ways away from the mirage that coated Groot. The knife that sank slowly into the tree's chest didn't do any damage; she'd be the one to know just how impervious Groot was to normal attacks, especially the ones that regarded knives.

Groot made a noise, not a tree falling noise, but a long, drawn out, "I am Groot." It was garbled enough for some better effect, and she was somewhat convinced. Yes, she'd look into some sort of acting classes for the group as a whole, or tell Peter to teach them his art of verbal ducking and dodging. But, otherwise, it worked, because Peter was checking for pulse that he wouldn't find, nudging Groot. One of the least effective hijackings ever, with them interfering.

Rocket skittered after Peter to avoid detection, as small, furry animals weren't a threat, and Peter wasn't looking down. Drax was stuck with her and Groot, tipping around hallways, only moving when Rocket and Peter rounded the other bend ahead. When a large flash of light that signaled one of Rocket's stun bombs, they walked on, finding Rocket on top of a trussed and tied bartender, a red bite mark on one of his large ears.

The man wriggled, a large, silver object rolling further away from his person. Before he could kick and damage it, she dipped, scooping it up. Peter's body, more like his nervous system, was displayed, the chemical highlighted in a vibrant, shimmering gold, instructions on how the affected person was to act was listed on the screen. Apparently, something would signal to the holder of this device that Peter had completed this task, green marking the words, as well as the RETURN. She didn't know, and did not enjoy the thought of asking Rocket, just to get the technical, though enthusiastic, description of how and why.

Gamora _did_ know that this bartender was the same one Peter had waved at, called a friend, the carefully mussed red and gold hair now matted down, a distinct paw print kept visible by the amount of styling gel used. The alabaster skin was an alarming pink, the Lamarian origin finally showing as the male began to shudder through distress colors. She thought this obvious display of emotions wasn't an intelligent adaptation, but the civilization was well rooted in their galaxy. Their empire didn't pack the power the Xandarian's did, but it was a startup, looking for a position in the Galaxy's more aggressive politics.

Peter's friend had been looking to further this. But, sadly, he'd done an incredibly terrible job. She almost felt bad about turning him back over to his own people to handle his punishment. The shame the man had to be experiencing was of astronomical levels. Gamora knew the shame, seeing a former sister fail a mission of this sort. Nebula's punishment had caused Thanos' domain to shake, and it was one of the final blows to their once strongly formed, but then cracked, and ill-repaired friendship. Former sister, maybe, but she….

Nevermind.

"How long till the chemical recedes?" she asked, watching the cake rotate between the two plates.

"1 hour or so; told you that 23 hours ago, Gamora," Rocket said, cheeks white with sugar, opened takeout boxes dotted around him, as if he was going to build a nest afterwards. "It takes a bit for his body to cycle it out. 24 hours, I think."

She'd saved the cake from the raccoon as he wedged himself into the mountain of expensive desserts. Peter was in something of a dormant state, with the chemical still running through him, so she was stuck staring at the cake. Gamora was done with the admiration stage, only feeling the pit left by a lack of food, and the fact that the cake was food. And dessert first was an incredible _idea_, making Peter a secret genius, maybe. Only maybe.

But the idea was a remnant of last night, which had taken a very annoying turn, as well as somewhat tedious due to the awesome failure of the orchestrated plan. She was trying to revive last night, as well as resist the urge to eat the cake. Mostly the latter, actually, placing the pros and cons of the past events against each other; like, had she been put through enough as to resort to selfishness, and, would Peter make them go back to get another cake if she ate it?

He would make them go back. All the way back to Saturn, fuck over the notion of the one month sanction of her, Groot, Rocket, and Drax had gotten, due to their 'harassment' of the rich, top, _top_ floor inhabitant. Harassment; please, it more like protection. They'd even let him keep his teapot.

So she pushed the cake forward, sat back in her chair. She crossed her arms over her chest, turning glance at the containment room, then focusing on the cake. Gamora decided to close her eyes to better ignore the food, setting two fingers to her temple, trying to dispel a headache that wasn't there.

"I saw you eyeing that cake, Gamora," Peter said, making her jolt, opening her eyes to him, crouched in front of his cassette player, music filling the air. "I had the idea to get the cake. You're an idea thief, which is less cool than a thief. Which is what I happen to be, so."

Peter was leaning close now, arm around the other side of her. Despite his sudden appearance, she was happier than she was willing to admit, really wishing he'd make better friend choices. She supposed her radar focus on the cake in front of had distracted her from any other movement behind her. Rocket had already moved into the upper levels to get away from her, quote on quote, "judgy stare". He was eating all the dessert

Gamora closed her eyes again, this time in exasperation, holding her head in her hands. A laugh shook her frame, and she dropped a hand to rest on his arm, warm skin covered by his shirt.

"What?" he asked, voice closer to her ear, more concerned than indignant. "What?" soft questioning now.

She felt his skin on hers, opened an eye to catch a peek of him, his head ducked, cheek on her shoulder. He was almost crouching, starting to slide her from her seat. Gamora didn't have the energy to fight this choice of action, allowing him to take up half the seat, even if it was ridiculous. There was another seat. Not that she was planning on bringing that to his attention, happy with him taking up her space.

He nudged her, said, "Hey."

"What?" she asked, pleased to have him back, finally meeting his eyes. No more dead gaze. She'd been worried about seeing that.

"Are you going to eat the cake, or are you going to stare at it?"

* * *

(AN: sorry for the long update space, but here it is, nonetheless. The reviews and follows have really made my month)


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